I was trying to explain to my 10 month old what Christmas tastes like. It was a fairly one-sided conversation but I’m pretty sure she got the gist of it.
I was cutting pomegranate seeds in half for her like the paranoid mom that I have become and she was mmmm-ing as she swallowed fistfuls of them whole. These had been preceded by some sage-y buckwheat with mushrooms, all flavours that seem very Christmassy to me.
We’re going to my family’s summer cabin this summer and I’m feeling a little bit nostalgic. My husband has never been, my daughter obviously hasn’t and (somehow?!) I haven’t been in fifteen years. I can’t wait, I hope it hasn’t shrunk too much.
We had a deal growing up that for every book we read throughout the year, we got an Archie comic to save to read during the summer at our cabin. My sisters and I read a lot, which equaled a lot of Archie comics by the time the summer arrived. There was no electricity, so we would spend a lot of time reading Archies, reading books and becoming way too good at every card game ever invented. I still know how to shuffle like a blackjack dealer, it’s sort of embarrassing.
This is a selfish post, as I’m satisfying a craving that just won’t let go. Rhubarb compote (stewed rhubarb?), one of the most unique textures, delightfully seasonal, extremely easy to prepare and for some of us, deeply nostalgic.
We moved to the suburbs when I was 11. This move brought with it a bigger back yard which meant a big garden, already filled with fun and mysterious fruits and veggies that kept popping up before our eyes. We had more raspberries than we knew what to do with (at least above the snout level of our giant dog) and lots of exotic-looking, jungle-y rhubarb plants.
I wanted to do something Easter-y this year, but I wasn’t totally sure what that meant to me. We covered chocolate pretty thoroughly for Valentine’s Day (check it out) and what really tastes like Easter to me in a nostalgic way is simply steamed artichokes (also my very first post ever) thanks to being lucky enough to spend Spring break in Southern California during artichoke-season (swoon).
Then I started thinking of all of those beautiful pastel colours that represent spring and Easter so well. I know this should apply to flowers, but remember Trolls? My Mom had a kids clothing store when we were growing up that was also known as Troll headquarters because she sold such a big collection of them (one of my younger sisters had like a million of them while the rest of us settled for Westbeach sweatshirts).
